Hello Wendy
by As-Long-As-I'm-Around
Summary: "We are young. We are children. We forget." What Wendy does not say back to him is, "You are boys. You will forget. But I am a lady. I do not, and cannot forget." Wendy opens up the window once more, and invites more then just Peter in.
1. Chapter 1

**Wendy cannot help herself. She leaves the window open one night, inviting more then just Peter in.**

_x._

_x._

She is thirteen years old.

There is a tapping every night. Once, it startled her out of sleep and gave her a fright. Now, she is accustomed to the noise, and is gently pulled out of sleep. At first, the disturbed sleep takes a toll on her, but it is nothing like the pain she feels in her heart. The eldest brother tells her wisely,

"We are young. We are children. We forget."

What Wendy does not say back to him is,

"You are boys. You will forget. But I am a lady. I do not, and cannot forget."

Such is the curse of giving away your first kiss, and letting the first boy into your heart. Her aunt never told her this, but she supposed that her aunt had no lover, so she could not know. Her father watches her, but he is not too concerned. He knows her time away has changed her and has changed all of them. How could it not when she brought with her the Lost Boys. She has not told him the story about Peter, so he too could not understand. And he doesn't, he doesn't understand why she's not happy, save the times when she is with the boys. The boys have learnt to stop asking her about Peter, and have accepted resignation on the matter with a bleakness that separates them.

Her mother is the only one who knows that there is something deeper amiss here, that her daughter has grown up because of heart break. But she does not force her eldest child to speak, but watches her carefully, a little frown upon her brow. Wendy acknowledges this, but she too does not say anything. She misjudges her mother, who only wishes to guide her and love her. In her silence, which she bares strongly, she puts up walls and distances herself from those who love her.

_x._

_x._

She is fourteen now. The tapping comes less, but is still there. Wendy has grown, and no longer wears the braids that a child would. Instead, her hair is plaited from the sides and join together at the back of the head, where it is bundled up neatly into a bun. She looks elegant, but there is now a fear in her heart at the very prospect of growing up.

Because that means forgetting. Although, she has to question if Peter is still in this world, does that mean he too is growing up? Or does he travel between the worlds? She knows that the lost boys are in contact with him, but she does not know what they speak about, or why he keeps popping up at her window.

But one thing is for sure, she is done with story telling. If she keeps on, she will not have time to live her own, and that would be a sad tale indeed.

x.

x.

She is fifteen, and has been on two dates, against all her brothers wishes. She may be older then them, but she is theirs, and they do not want to give her up.

"At least let us meet this boy!" That is the middle child, and she hears the yells of agreement from the other boys.

"I have met the boy. I am her father, and I assure all of you I only want the best for my daughter." There was a time when Wendy would have rolled her eyes in disbelief, for there was a time when he was obsessed with all the right connections. Now, although that was still important to him, he cared more so for getting the right match for her, then the right match for the family. There had been some good changes after all.

One boy had tried to pressure her, and after a heated argument, there was a flash of light and the boy had fallen unconscious against the steering wheel. Wendy had had her suspicions about what had happened, but she did not push the matter before stepping out of the vehicle and making the walk around the corner to her house. Luckily, her mother was the only one who was home and the boys were asleep. Wendy had explained it all in hushed tones, and her mother had swallowed her anger and had opened her arms to comfort her daughter.

The other boy had been courteous, but it was still a match that Wendy did not want to pursue. She was still young, and still had much to learn.

And there was one lesson she had not yet managed to grasp, and that was forgetting someone.

x.

x.

She is sixteen, and she cannot ignore the tapping any longer. She opens the window, and steps back as Peter steps in.

"Hello, Wendy." He says grimly.


	2. Chapter 2

Her knees are trembling, but she uses the clenching of her fist to be her anchor. She holds her head high.

She is a Darling, through and through. That young girl, naïve through her love for stories and books, is gone. In replacement stands a lady, and she is strong. Her eyes quickly assess the boy-though now she can hardly call him that-before resting firmly onto the blue eyes. She stores the information away for later, when she can view it in private. It would do no good to her now to think about how much he has changed, how he has grown and shed the sparkle that comes from a love from adventure and being a kid.

"It took you four years to finally let me in." He meets her firm gaze head on, returning one of his own. His brow is furrowed, and after his speech his lips press back into that firm line of anger.

She takes a breath. And another one.

"I was trying to do what we both agreed. For if I had any earlier, that surely would have gotten in the way. Now, I am grown up and I'm sure now that you've seen this, there will be nothing more to say to each other. I am the story teller, aren't I? I do not see a happy ending to this, so why bother to play it out?"

He struggles for a moment, and she sees emotions flash across his face too quick for her to diagnose, before he composes himself. It is impressive, and she is reminded again that he may not be the boy that he was once.

"If you are such a story teller, do you not remember that some do not have a happy ending? And those are the ones with the most wonderful lessons in them. Don't dismiss this story so easily, my Wendy. If you are so quick to write it, then you may find yourself writing the wrong ending."

He smiles at her now, and quirks an eyebrow, as if daring her. She accepts the challenge.

"I am the story teller, I know my way already, I know how this goes. Unfortunately though I am not the writer, merely a player. But my path is determined by my character, how I handle when...things, if you will, pop up. Also, I am not your Wendy. I never was, for you are just a boy."

"What if I'm the writer then? Or what if, another character challenges you. And what if, because you say you're not the writer, that this character is meant to be in your life. You were my Wendy then, and you are now. And I am a boy no longer. You wanted me to grow up, and here I am."

He speaks boldly and bluntly, and she grudgingly admires him for that. She likes how he challenges her, thus once again proving his theory that he is not a boy.

"I'll explain something for you. I am quite your elder. But I stopped growing at twelve, for thirteen is the age where boy starts the process of becoming a man. But, as soon as I came back to this world and stayed, that process began. I have not been back and forth between the two worlds as you might think. Although there are lost boys coming, they were not mine. And Hook is also gone, which left things boring. It took me a couple of months to realise this, before I came back. But you would not open your window to me, so how could you know this. And even now, you stand there looking at me like that."

For indeed, Wendy had quite forgotten herself. Throughout this well thought speech, her mouth had dropped open, and she stands gaping at him like a fish. Embarrassed, she closes her mouth and turns away from him, not wanting him to see how she truly feels about this, for it would make the words she would speak all the while harder.

"Wendy? Please don't hide from me. It's been a long time."

She turns around, but can not meet his eye.

"I'll be known now, as the girl who seduced you away, who changed you. How do you not know that this isn't meant to be? How do you not know that you're not meant to help these boys, and I'm meant to get back to my life. I know this hurts now, but what if it reaps so much more heart break down the track?" Her vision begins to blur, and she blinks furiously against the flow of tears that threaten to spill down her cheeks. Peter remains quiet, his eyes watching her very carefully. He waits until she is more in control of herself.

"To be who I have been, I would have had to have very good instincts. I have always trusted them and they have never led me astray. That job wasn't forever, Wendy. If it had been, I would not have met you. And I would not let anyone think that of you. If you-if you gave me the chance, I would be there to write the story, and I would make sure it was told properly, and let anyone who dares question you answer to me. Answer to me, just like that boy who tried to force you."

Her mouth falls open once more, and she quickly closes it as her eyes narrow at him. He smiles grimly at her with acknowledgment.

"I do not regret it. He was not hurt, Tinkerbell worked a very specific spell on him. Although if I had had it my way, he would have been." His eyes burn, and she meets them, feeling the heat from them warm her body.

"If you were with me, you would never have to fall upon ill company like that again, Wendy. You know how well I can keep you safe. This world may not seem all that dangerous, but at least with Hook, he was always open about who he was. Here, it seems people like to play subtle but dangerous games."

"Peter," Wendy's voice is very quiet now, and the burn fades from Peter's eyes, and he suddenly appears nervous.

"Yes?"

She knows she should ask him what he's been doing with his time, why he just didn't come to her door, and what their life will be. But she suddenly can't bear the distance now that he's standing in front of her, and she crosses the room, almost falling into him as the trembling in her knees become too much. He holds her carefully and firmly against him, his hands sliding through her hair as her head rests on his chest.

"Why didn't you come to the door?" she whispers against the fabric. He breathes a laugh.

"It had to be the window. And you had to be ready, and I had to be ready. Seems we finally are."


End file.
